January 14, 2026 (thirty-fourth birthday)

I was the girl who learned to French braid on her pony’s long, flaxen tail. The girl who ate Nutty Buddies for after-school snack. The girl who ran through the woods, wild—with dirty knees, tangled hair, and glasses. The girl whose name was “Brigette” in high school French (she was always, unwittingly, captivated by France).

I was the quiet, studious girl with her head in the clouds and her heart flung everywhere…except on her sleeve. I was the girl who played flute for eight years (and was dang good at it, too). I was also the girl who quit gymnastics outright when pushed to compete—that girl had only wanted to spin and do cartwheels for fun, not trophies. I was the girl who made wishes on dandelions.

I was girl who stood up to bullies on the school bus to defend her best friend. The girl who could read other people like a book, yet had trouble reading and understanding herself. The girl with crippling anxiety and fear of the unknown; the girl who kept herself small to avoid conflict, attention, and unwanted stares.

Those girls are still there. They’re me; they’re forever a part me. And I’ve come to know and love them all. They are held eternally in my heart and in God’s gentle hands.

My earnest hope is that thirty-four can be the year I reclaim some of those girls—those long-lost and innocent, but deeply GOOD parts of myself that hardship and cynicism have worn away. The year I return to childlike faith, hope, and trust. This could be the year where all of my paradoxes collide? Discernment and mercy; softness and self-differentiation; brain and heart; emotion and intellect. The girl who wrote stories and drew horses in the margins of her math notebook is still in there, somewhere. God knit her together so wonderfully in her mother’s womb—thirty-four years ago, today.

Happy Birthday, girl. And happy (early) birthday to all the girls to come.

🎂💕